


Heathens

by mrsbarnes1o7



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathens (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbarnes1o7/pseuds/mrsbarnes1o7
Summary: “I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.” 
  ― Kahlil Gibran, The Madman.





	

‘Do you know how does one become mad?’, I ask to the man with the white coat and brown hair in front of me. My main doctor, Dr. Stark, the prodigal son of this hospital, better than any other, even better than Coulson and Fury. He’s too hot to be that old, he has these huge, brown ayes and a sophisticated haircut and shaving, I mean, the guy can’t be really that uptight, you can see the crack in the back of his eyes, a playful kitten waiting to be petted, to be released, but he seems determined to hold back and play sweet, caring doctor here. Okay, I’ll let him have his fun for now. I grin, waiting for his answer, blinking in expectation and hoping this would change the tenor of our dull session. 

‘Enlighten me’, he lifts his eyes from the notebook on his lap and looks at me with a boredom interest. My grin widens. He can try all he wants, but he can’t hide the hint of amusement looming from the corner of his mouth and oh, is so weak and quivering that all I have to do is wait. I’ll indulge him, then.

‘You talk, and talk and talk until your tongue bleeds’, I roll my tongue exaggeratedly at the end, prolonging the sound to emphasize the last word. He seems unfazed, the pleasure flashes through his trained composure like an invisible lighting, but I don’t miss it. God I’ve seen it so many times, there’s no chance I can be fooled. He grimaces at my smirking face and I chuckle. Come on, let go, it’s going to be fun.

‘Is that why you’re here?’, beep-beep, wrong question. Is he serious? He should know by now, he does, but he’s aiming for that place where this is supposed to work and he’ll proudly say that he’s helping me, that I’m somehow improving, or some other bullshit. Sadly for him, I know the rules better than him and I rejoice in making him lose his temper. It never works, but this sight of him, torn between rational thinking and the simple action to give in to his own diversion is marvelous. 

‘No’, I shake my head, biting down my bottom lip.

‘Why are you here, miss?’, he puts two fingers over his temple, leaning to his right side. He does that when he catches on my innocent mischiefs and realizes I’m not dropping it. Well then, enjoy the ride, doctor.

‘Because I stabbed my boyfriend 17 times with an ice-pick’, my laughter erupts like an atomic bomb that fills the air of the shitty room, I even bet they hear me outside, down the hall, everywhere by everyone. Let them hear my ecstasy, let them envy me, let them fear me. They will see it sooner or later, they will feel it. The frenzy of madness and artificial freedom. I laugh until I’m gasping because it’s hilarious, so brilliant and beautiful, and he sighs, defeated, snickering under his breath.

‘That’s not exactly why you’re here, miss’, the traces of a smile crawl up his face. Gotcha, Stark, about damn time. We’ve been doing this for the last couple of moths and he remains a total, skeptical douchebag. Is he really that stupid? Heaven’s sake, it’s frustrating, but so fucking pleasing too. We look at each other for several seconds, scrutinizing in our gazes, we want to figure out what kind of sick minds are we, but there are walls build up around the most sensible spot that would only thrive if you know how to touch it. Go ahead, Stark, touch it.

‘I skinned my sister’s dog’, the curve of his lips fades away and he glares at me. Oh, just when this was getting good. Anyway, we’re right where I wanted us to be. ‘I ran naked around the parking lot of a mall and attacked a kid with a crowbar’, his lips are impossibly tight, his expression deep serious and an angry wrinkle forms in the middle of his eyebrows. That’s it. Can you feel now it Stark? The irony, the derision? Aren’t they exhilarating? I close my eyes, my toes curling when a hot shiver runs up my spine at the thought, and I laugh again. I can’t stop laughing. ‘I danced with my grandfather’s corpse on his own funeral’, I hear him tap his thigh with his pen, the signal that he’s not in the mood for this anymore. I huff at his lack of humor and open my eyes. He’s fuming. Glorious. ‘Fine, I cut out my veins in front of my whole class’, I giggle.

‘You did all of that, miss, I’m impressed, would you call that mad, or were you just having some fun?’, he’s exasperated and I can’t find his sarcasm more gratifying. I’m just having a good time in our lovely weekly therapy session, why does he have to be such an old, grumpy man? Jesus, easy it off.

‘I’d call it fun’, I sprawl my body on the chair, arms and legs hanging lees than gracefully. Stark quirks an eyebrow and I scoff. ‘You obviously can’t agree because you weren’t there! You didn’t see that bastard’s face when I caught him with a bitch sucking his dick, it was refreshing after I covered his body with little holes’, I close my right eye and draw tiny circles in the air with my index finger. 

‘And your sister’s dog?’, I can tell he’s struggling to hold his shit together. He probably wants to throw something at me, everyone does, but unfortunately, the law protects my rights as a fucked up human and he should have more control over his anger, I mean, I can smell it from my place at the opposite side of the room. Aren’t they supposed to be trained? What the hell? Is he really that good of a doctor… or am I that good of a patient? The answer thrills me.

‘Too loud’, I answer nonchalantly. He carries on without blinking.

‘The mall?’

‘Wanted to loosen up a bit’, I grimace. ‘And that kid was annoying as fuck’ I let out a muffled groan. If we keep going down this way, I’m gonna lose my shit too. I’m already feeling kinda hasty, my stomach flipping upside down. Did I have breakfast, by the way? Can’t fucking remember.

‘Your grandfather?’, this guy won’t stop, will he? Damn it, Stark, let go already, man!

‘He loved that song! I only thought he would like a last dance before going 6 feet underground’, I exclaim, annoyed, throwing my hands at the air in a dramatic motion.

‘What about the incident in your school?’

‘I was bored’, I shrug. ‘Are we done yet? I gotta go see my friends’, I look at the window behind him, craving for some fresh air and warm arms around me. 

‘What friends?’, Stark frowns again, his tone calmer.

‘Natasha, Clint and Steve are my friends and they’re waiting for me!’, the anxiety hits me like a truck, my mind and body get lost in the turmoil. It comes at the wrong time, that bitch. I’m starting to shake, blinking nonstop, my breathing ragged and my head spinning. Where am I? I’m in therapy. Who is he? He’s my doctor. What are you doing? I don’t know, but I better get the hell out of here. Now. ‘I gotta go, I’m already late’, I stand up abruptly, tripping with my own clumsy feet, and walk towards the door, but his voice stops me on my tracks.

‘I sent someone to tell them that you’ll be busy this evening’, there’s a smug grin on display when I turn back to him, shamelessly pleasant, and my heart sinks to the floor. The despair rushes over my chest, the anger, the betrayal. 

‘Why did you do that!?’, fucking hell, he got me. I should have seen it coming, I should have noticed the pattern, paid attention not to his reactions and expressions, but his silent language leading me to this precise moment. I’m trapped. It was all part of the game and I got caught off guard by this sick bastard. He played dirty, outran me and now he’s at the head of the race. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket in the front of his coat like we’re having a casual talking, friend to friend. 

‘I got an idea’, he offers, gesturing me to step back closer. ‘Why don’t you tell me about them so you don’t miss them today, that alright?’, I hesitate, but then something clicks on my brain; it’s just a game, isn’t it? I can give him exactly what he wants because he wants what they all want. I look down at my feet, studying the fissures on the floor and wonder if their shape it’s as clear to anyone as it is to me; it doesn’t matter, none of us do. It takes me two minutes to relax my muscles and recover my senses, once grounded, I look up to Stark. He’s giving me a reassuring smile because he fucking has to reassure me that nothing bad is going to happen. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice... I nod, timidly, and walk in his direction, taking a cigarette from his packet, which he gentleman lights on for me, sitting down and smiling just as warmly. Bless the practice, and his stupidity. ‘Good, could you start with Miss Romanoff? Natasha’. Ding ding ding. God, they’re not ones to disappoint, ever. I’ll give him one last chance, but if he doesn’t pick up, we’re done. Screw the ‘good behavior’ streak. Here we go.

‘She’s my best girl friend and she’s a ballerina’, I answer with sudden burst of fervor that startles him. I laugh and he composes himself. ‘We talk about boys all the time, the one that we would like to fuck with and how would we do it. She’s been talking about Steve a lot, I think she likes him and he likes her back, it’s so sweet!’, I let out a girlish squeal and shake my fists to overstate my excitement. I sigh and look beyond his figure, like I’m freaking stargazing in the middle of the day. ‘Steve is a good guy for her, after all that bullshit she went through with her dad, she deserves the best of the best’, I point out.

‘What happened to her?’. Miss crazy pants here two, Mr. Kitty Cat zero. 

‘Okay, I’mma tell you but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone’, I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at him in a menacing way. 

‘I swear’, he says and puts his right hand over his heart. And I thought he didn’t have sense of humor. Perfect. We get comfortable and I let the words flow without restraint, the cigarette consuming minute by minute.

‘She’s a junky, I don’t even know what shit she’s gotten, but she’s tasted all. Her parents kicked her out and she began working in this famous men’s club in D.C., can’t remember the name, but she had to have sex with other girls and fat guys, business men and lonely husbands, and she killed her boss one night when he was trying to fuck her in the ass’, I shake my head in disapproval, pursing my lips. ‘She had the last laugh, though, digging deep a huge dildo into the bastard’, I laugh so hard at the last part that I have to cover my mouth to quiet it down a bit. ‘What did he expect? The sick son of a bitch didn’t even ask’, I say matter-of-factly.

‘The others, do you know about them too?’, now we’re speaking the same language. He wanted answers? I’ll give him every drop of truth that I know.

‘Of course I do, they’re my friends! Look, Clint is the funniest guy in the world, you know he made one church explode with twenty bottles of tequila and a cigarette? I mean, that’s so fucking cool, right? And he told that he had so much fun with his dad’s new wife in Vegas while he was in the hospital’, this is getting seriously awesome and I’m sure my laughs will leave deaf anyone who’s within the ratio of the building. 

‘He’s here because he’s funny, like you?’, I slow down enough to catch my breath and frown at him. Pff, what the hell?

‘No, he’s here because he practically castrated his brother in the middle of a party, found out about his little affair with his date’, I pout almost unconsciously. ‘Now that I think of it, we have a lot in common, y’know, we’ve both been cheated by the greatest earth’s scum and we returned the favor, it’s only fair’, Stark nods, like he can possibly agree with me. 

‘I see’, he says, writing down his notebook. I would pay to see what the hell does he writes about me. Maybe it’s just a bunch of cheesy poems about his lunatic of a patient that can’t stop laughing or some pornographic drawing about one of his many fantasies about us fucking over the desk. I know he has them, I’ve caught him looking at my breast and legs and lick his lips when I lean down, on purpose, of course. ‘And Mr. Rogers? Steve is also your friend, isn’t he?’

‘Steve’s the biggest, cutest meatball I know, a true gentleman. He’s a veteran, if you can call’im that because he’s so fucking hot. His ass is like way too perfect for his own good, every time I see him walking I just want to grab that ass and squeeze it so hard… Anyways, he’s a veteran and he doesn’t really have a reason to be here, he just had a panic attack in one of those memorial days of the army and took out a gun, shot the entire gang and killed his girl by accident, Peggy I think it was, and was diagnosed with PTSD, obviously’, I’ve finished the cigarette by now, Stark hands me the pack, but I decline his offer. ‘He’s very close to Bucky’, I let out the last exhale of smoke. 

‘What about him?’ the slight change in his tone doesn’t pass unnoticed. If I could smile any wider, I would, but I reserve that luxury to my inner self.

‘Bucky? He’s an asshole, I tried to be nice to him once and he turned me down like I was so low on his standards. He’s so full of himself, he doesn’t hang out with no other than Steve and scowls at rest, like we have the plague of something. Who knows? Maybe he just needs a good fuck’, I shrug.

‘What do you know about him?’, he asks, clearly interested in my negative comments. As the first time the topic is brought to the table, I have the chance to spill out everything I know, everything I see, and Stark is starving for it.

‘He was in the army too, he went to Afghanistan and Iraq and came back screwed up. I don’t know precisely what happened to him, I just know that one night, he had an episode in a movie theater, threw a grenade in the middle of the reception because he thought he was under attack’, my indifferent tone intrigues the doctor, but I’ll let him guess. He has to use his brain. I shift on the chair, slightly uncomfortable and I clear my throat before continuing. ‘He lost his left arm and now has a prosthetic one’, I explain without details, a knot starting to tighten on my throat because I’m not a cold, cruel bitch. I do feel, but if those feelings manage to slip through this rant, game over. ‘I tell him he looks repulsive with it’.

‘Is that all?’, he tries to masks his disappointment with an innocent look. The typical strategy to extract more information.

‘What do you mean that’s all?’, he’s smart, but both of us can play oblivious. 

‘Are those your only reasons to despise him?’, his question sounds so natural and spontaneous that I actually want to answer it. This might be the climax of our session, the part in which I make a huge confession that will explain s crucial aspect of my condition, the secret to his future success. How did Tony Stark make this bitch spit out the truth? The most difficult female recluse of the hospital, not so dangerous, not so harmless, but he did it. Hail, Dr. Stark, poor Dr. Stark, he truly believes he wears the pants in this doctor-patient, doggy-kitty relationship, but I am the dog, if you get my meaning.

‘I don’t know’, I look away, smiling at myself. ‘Could be’, I hum a laugh, biting down my lip and looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. When he realizes, not so soon I must say, that it was the end of that particular subject, he straightens and sighs. Ow, did I take your big, thick candy bar away? I’ll give it back, just let me have the first bite while you pick up your pants. 

‘And the rest of the patients? Do you talk to them?’, he’s back to his normal self. Apathetic and unfazed, his eyes locked down to his notebook. 

‘Like hell! That Maximoff girl? She’s damn fucking dangerous, I heard she has these voices in her head that tell her what to do, she talks alone, screams and kicks and attacks the nurses and doctors all the time. Nat told me she killed her twin brother, they had a messed up incestuous relationship, but the guy ended up dead because of those voices’, my belly hurts from how hard I’m laughing again. This is hilarious and I haven’t had this fun in such a long while that I don’t care if I pee myself at any moment. ‘That other man, Banner, he’s bipolar or some shit, we never see him around, no one knows what’s his deal, we just hear him when he’s going all crazy inside his cell’, I regain the flowing rhythm of my outburst, holding back my hysterical laughter. ‘Both of them wear straitjackets day and night, crazy bastards’.

Stark puts his notebook on his desk and smiles, way too sweet, at me. Here comes the ‘ _Very good, miss, you can go now_ ’. Say the words already!

‘Very good, miss, I think that would be all for today, you can go see your friends now’, I stand up and leave the room before he takes his next breath. Fucking finally.

I rush through the corridor, leaving the mask I wore for a whole hour in that shitty room, the disguise and the role. I ignore the whines and cries behind the doors at my sides and I forget the questions and the looks. Only one thing matters now, and the reason I’m so eager to get out of the building and head towards the front garden is standing in the farthest corner of the almost deserted place, his back is greeting me and the pounding flutter in my stomach leaves me woozy. Such grace, such body, strong and tall and soft. My feet walk blindly until I’m standing mere centimeters away from him. He doesn’t turn around; he doesn’t have to because he knows where I’d be looking for him. I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle into the space between his shoulder blades. My soul has been aching for him and, God, I just want to feel him pressed against my heart for the rest of my miserable life.

‘Hey, doll’, he whispers, turning his head a little. His voice feels like velvet caressing my cheek. ‘How was therapy?’, I hum something I can’t even hear myself and he chuckles. We stay still for a few seconds, but I can’t fight anymore. I need him to let me take everything he has to offer, so I run my hands down south, palming the bulge in the front of his sweatpants. He groans. ‘Not now, doll, not here’, he’s kind of begging, not quite rejecting my touch, yet he stiffens. 

‘Why? I want you now, I want you here’, I purr and he shudders. He turns around and cups my face in his huge hands. Those blue eyes lay upon mine and that’s the end of it. There are no games, no laughs, just two beating hearts and friction setting sparks of sunrays there, where our lips haven’t met. He leans down and for one second I think he’s ending my agony, but he settles on my ear and I’m the one shuddering now. His breath fans over the skin of my neck, too far to be too close, rising goosebumps and driving me mad with longing. 

‘Later, in the laundry room’, he kisses my forehead and lets go of me. Well, I tried. I see him walk towards Steve, who’s focused on the drawing on his lap, sitting a least twenty meters away from us. I take a deep breath; he’s worried about Steve and he has every reason to be. He’s had rough days and awful nights and he’s been sedated more than I can count this week. We can only hope for the worst.

I spend the rest of the morning with Nat and Clint, we say nonsense that make us laugh, we mock our doctors and nudge each other’s ribs playfully. We’re insane and we don’t care, we live in this glamour and we’re kind of happy here. The little bubble keeps us together, at least what’s left of us. I have far more than I ever imagined, or deserved. We eat lunch and fool around, then we take our cocktails, the pills do their magic and soon we find ourselves laying on the grass, looking up to the purple sky, pointing out the elephants and dragons flying out of our reach. No one disturbs us, we’re surprisingly calm and there’s no need to be worried about this threesome of lunatics. Nar braids my hair while I draw butterflies on Clint’s forearms with my nails, we sing an old song that I think is from The Beatles, their voices create a melody that I prefer to listen to than ruin with my poor howls. ‘You sound like a dog in heat’, says Nat. Bitch, I love her. I steal glances of Steve and Bucky every now and then, they’re talking peacefully, but I notice the concerned way Bucky looks at his friend. As I said, Steve is a good guy, the nicest person I’ve ever met. He used to show me his drawings, thanking my compliments with modesty and telling me the story behind his work. Now he’s just a walking dead, too doped to even eat by himself. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like a piece of meat, I hear the guards and doctors make fun of him, they call him nasty names and make fun of his broad shape and gentle manners. Fuck them.

I’m heading to the building by six o’clock when Bucky disappears out of the sudden. Nat and Clint wave and smile at me knowingly. What can I say? My situation is no secret, everyone knows what’s happening, but no one dares to speak the words. They know and I love to see their pretty mouths shut.

I’m facing the laundry room’s door and my body hurts in anticipation. When I open it, he pulls me into his arms immediately, crashing his lips against mine in a wild kiss. My darling, I’ve been craving for this too. His tongue wastes no time and explores its domains, our hands grazing over the skin that remains clothed. He grips my ass with his metal hand and squeeze it tightly, his touch is not gentle, is rough and just the way I need it to be. I run my fingers through his silky hair, untying that man bun he knows I love so much and my hips grind slowly down his emergent hard-on as he lifts his upwards to meet me in the middle. I don’t try to contain the moans escaping from me as he bites my bottom lip. Delightfully painful.

‘Shh’, I whine when he pulls away. Our lips are swollen and wet, the plumb surface tickling after the heated encounter. He chuckles, tugging at the messy strands of my hair to claim my attention. How on earth am I supposed to focus on something else than his pulsating dick against my inner thigh and my own growing wetness? He’s already the death of me. ‘We almost get caught last time because you couldn’t keep it low’, I can’t help but giggle and he gives me a peck on the nose. ‘Now, be a good girl and go down on your knees’, I nod and untangle myself from him, pushing him back to the wall and kneeling in front of him. 

I’ve always thought that I was made to blowjob him, my hungry mouth reaches the perfect height for him to grab the back of my head and I have easy access to his crotch. I slide down his sweatpants along with his boxers, his throbbing erection jolting out of its confinement. I run my palms up and down his thick thighs, loving how firm and strong they are. I lean forward to place kiss to his v-line, sucking at the skin there. He hums in approval, enjoying this short teasing.

‘You look gorgeous from up here, doll’, he whispers, sighing at my gentle ministrations before I softly kiss the tip of his length, then he groans. I’m starving, he’s already dripping pre-cum and I know we won’t last any longer if we keep this pace. I envelop his member with my salivating mouth and he lets out a wanton noise. I bob my head in eagerness, he thrusts forward, sloppy and ragged, I have to hollow my cheeks to let him reach the deepest place on my throat, trying not to gag. His peculiar, musky flavor mixes with the salty taste of my tears falling down my face, sweat and drool soaking my chin. 

‘That’s it’, he grunts. ‘Oh, fuck’, he grabs me by the nape and yanks my hair back. He’s close, so close that I can feel his cock twitching, ready to explode and feed me with his seed. ‘Get up, get up’, he commands, snatching himself away from my mouth and lifting me with hurry. He tears apart my blouse and bra, diving down to suck my breasts greedily, his tongue rolls around one of my nipples and I see stars. He bites one and pitches the other hardened pebble with his thumb and index finger. I arch my back to him, moaning loudly and begging for more attention. He shoves me over a table I wasn’t aware of and lifts up my skirt, dismissing my panties and throwing them over his shoulder. He opens my legs as wide as he can, trailing kisses up to my neck and the spot behind my ear. He slides two fingers into my slit, bumping in and out with torturous motions. ‘Jesus, you’re always so fucking tight’, he muffles, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. ‘So wet’, his torment knows no end, his thumb finds my oversensitive buddle of nerves and rubs it in a brutal quickness. I’m a mess of groans, curses, moans and some other noises that can’t be named, but when the peak is just around the corner, he stops. I let out a loud whine and he laughs, then, using my juices, he lubricates his length. My stomach aches at the view. He looks at me and we both know; it’s not just the sex, the lust and appetite, we let ourselves relish and love and yearn. We feel, it’s that simple. And then he enters me, not caring about letting me adjust to his size. I yelp at the hasty invasion, maybe too loud, but it encourages him to move. He starts slowly, deep and hard, and my nails dig into his right bicep. 

‘Bucky…’, his name comes out breathlessly. ‘Harder’, I plead and thanks fucking God he complies. His hips become almost a blur between our bodies, his pace is unforgiving, slamming against me without mercy and it’s perfect, like the whole of him. I’m so close now, the filthy sound of smacking skin sends violent shivers through my back. His grip on my hipbones will leave bruises, I’ll be marked by his need and it’s delicious. The contrast of the cold of his metal arm and his burning flesh triggers every single one of nerves, leading them to the anew approaching peak. ‘Oh, God, Bucky, I’m gonna–’

‘Come, doll, come for me’, and I know he would set the world on fire just to see me come undone. He’s holding back for me, he wants me to climax first and the sucker will succeed if he keeps it up like this. Our lips meet in a battle of tongues and teeth, trying to muffle our moans and cries, the primal instinct taking over our senses until my body gives in. I shake ferociously when my orgasm hits me, a wave of warmth and pleasure lessens my limbs. His rhythm falters, a powerful, final thrust leading him to the ultimate state of bliss. We’re panting and kissing chaotically, our bodies still attached when his length starts to soften. ‘My precious, baby doll’, he whispers, peppering light kisses all over my face. He nips down my shoulder and I cradle his head against my chest. ‘You okay?’, he asks out of breath. I nod, surrounding his neck with my arms, looking for some leverage, and he wraps his arms around my waist. We chuckle, unable to break our embrace just now and wait until our heart rates stabilize. It takes us solid five minutes to recover, but we know it had to come to an end, sooner or later. ‘C’mon, we gotta go before someone walks in’, he kisses my forehead and retrieves himself, making me groan at the lost of his fullness. 

He uses a washcloth someone unluckily forgot to clean my soaked skin and the traces of semen dripping out of my slit, tossing the sticky piece of cloth to a basket when he finishes. We dress each other, teasing and laughing like a couple of teenagers and we leave the laundry room with the strong smell of sex and the traces of our love. Once outside, we sit on a bench far away from the rest of the recluses. I snuggle to his left side, his metal arm pulling me closer and his head resting on the top of mine. Our imperfection fits perfectly.

‘How was Mr. Kitty Cat today?’ Bucky asks, curious. He knows about Stark’s bothering questions and he enjoys listening to my complaints. I ignore the reason.

‘Ugh, he’s a creep, he asked me the dirty details, can you believe it? Sick bastard’, I huff.

‘What did you tell him this time?’, his tone remains interested, but there’s a hint of amusement that steals a smile from my lips. 

‘You know me’, I simply say and we stay quiet for the rest of the evening, enjoying the summer breeze and the comfort of each other’s presence. Sometimes I forget where and why we are here.

The sky turns a morbid mass of darkness when the annoying voice calling us inside interrupts our secret paradise. We walk hand in hand towards the building, I see Nat helping Steve to get to the entry; he’s still under the effect of the sedatives and there’s no way in hell he can make it on his own. He’s a big man, so he needs great amounts of that shit to be brought down. It’s disgusting what they do to him, it makes me nauseous and Bucky furious. We stop where the main aisle splits in opposite directions, his room is in the west, mine in the east and it doesn’t matter how much we want to stay together, there’s no escaping the strict rules that keep us contained. But, there’s always a time when we can twist their hands a little.

‘I convinced the guards to let me stay in your room a little longer tomorrow night, sounds good?’, I nod enthusiastically, a laugh filling the cold air of the night. His sweet, warm smile in response melts my insides. ‘I love to hear you laugh like that, doll’, he confesses and brings our linked hands up, kissing my knuckles. ‘Go on, I’ll see you later’, I give him one last peck on his cheek and he lets go of me.

The way to my room is tedious, Bucky’s company has taken all the brightness with it, leaving me lonely and nervous. We spend a lot of time together although we have individual activities, and to be honest, I don’t know why they haven’t tried to separate us yet. I’m not complaining, but it worries me that some day I won’t be able to be with him the way I want to. Programmed movements undress me, put on my nightgown and places me under the blankets. I already took my meds, so fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. Sweet dreams, crazy pants.

I think it’s Monday, or maybe Friday. No, wait. It was Thursday two days ago, anyway, this is another good day. Blue sky, sunny day and all. Clint and I are having a serious discussion about whether the first trilogy of Star Wars is better than the prequel and, of course, I’m winning; the first one, by far. But he insists that the second has better light-saber fights and music. Ridiculous. Nat is watching Steve drawing a ballerina with a tender smile on her face near the fountain not far from us. It’s funny how they blend differently from the way Bucky and I do. 

We have unusual backgrounds and stories, singular conditions, but something drags us together like magnetic energy. Where Steve is calm and well-mannered, tall and strong, Natasha is vigorous and sharp, petite and elegant. She teases him, a clever remark threatening from the tip of her tongue that pushes Steve over the edge, but the way he stares adoringly at her when she turns around says otherwise. Bucky is dead quiet, he’s the ‘cold glaring’ type and at some point I was scared of him, his roughness and murder-like struts intimidate even the toughest guard. I’m brisk and edgy, yelling half the day and weeping half the night. Made for each other. It was a particular bad day for me that he came into my rescue. ‘ _They’re not real, they’re gone_ ’, he said, and held me lax against his chest until I calmed down from the panic attack. ‘ _Why did you help me?_ ’, I asked him later. ‘ _No one knows but us_ ’, he answered. The words remain stuck on the healthy side of my brain to this day and the rest is a secret. I’m his doll, period. 

Speaking of, where is Bucky? I haven’t seen him since breakfast. My eyes roam through the white clothed bodies that stain the landscape, looking for his familiar, ghostly form, but a shrill shout freezes my blood and I turn to my left. It’s Steve.

‘WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE’S PEGGY?!’, the peaceful man shattered into hell. He’s grasping his hair so hard that I’m sure he’s tearing it away, blind with despair. He flashbacks to the war sometimes, the most innocent word triggers the demons, some other times he forgets enough of it to call for Peggy, a beloved face that is nowhere to be found, not matter how much he screams. ‘PEGGY!’, he shouts again, sobbing and turning his head frantically, his feet at the verge of running.

‘Steve, calm down, please’, I see Natasha curled into a ball behind him. Her pleading, green eyes are full of terror, her tiny hands reaching out to him. The nurses and guards encircle the wild animal to prevent him from hurting anyone close. The needles already pointing at him.

‘Steve, come on, pal’, Bucky intrudes the human fence, pushing aside the menacing figures and grabbing his friend’s shoulders to make him look at him. ‘Hey, listen to me’, but Steve still calls for her. Bucky cups Steve’s face aggressively and forces him to stop. ‘She’s gone, man’, the blonde man lets out a loud sob and shakes his head in denial. ‘She’s gone, Stevie’, Bucky repeats, his voice breaking and both of them crumble down on the floor.

‘No, no no! PEGGY! NO!’, Steve drops his head on Bucky’s chest, drowning in cries and gasps. He grips Bucky’s shirt so tightly that it shreds apart, and Bucky lets him do it. They cling to each other, trying to ground themselves, relieve their agony and pacify their soul and we’re all watching, but no one moves a finger. Do we look that miserable in front of their eyes? Are we really that hopeless? The silence answers the unspoken questions and quick needles sink into Steve’s neck. They carry his limp body inside and maybe not even God knows what’s going to happen to him.

Bucky approaches Nat and helps her up, they both look at the man they so deeply care for disappear behind the door of the building. Everyone goes back to their tasks, turning around indifferently like we didn’t see Captain Steve Rogers breaking down in pain, screaming and looking for someone that is never coming back. Show’s over. Nat says something to Bucky, but I can’t hear what, and he clenches his jaw. She looks down, spotting Steve’s sketchbook at her feet. She’s holding back the tears, but the moment she picks it up and looks up, she’s empty. Marbled features and abysmal eyes. Bucky starts to walk away, heading inside as well and I follow him quietly, careful not to startle or bother him. 

I close the door of his room behind me. He’s standing by the only window, his hands rest on the frame and I can hear how hard he’s breathing, almost gasping. We wait for him to calm down, the air is thick and I can smell his distress. I want to step closer and put my arms around him like I always do, but any sudden move could end badly for both of us.

‘It’s his fourth episode this week’, he whispers, more to himself than me, and inhales deeply. Yes, Steve’s been through a rough phase these past days, the illness gaining ground over him in a short time. I think we knew this would happen, but it doesn’t make it easier. ‘He’s not gonna make it, doll’, he lets out a dry chuckle, still not turning to face me.

‘You mean they– they’ll send him…?’, no. No, please. Not Steve. He can’t go to that place, they can’t take him away from us too. We already lost two friends, but Steve... It would devastate Bucky. 

‘Would you give me a minute? I– I want to be alone’, I hesitate for a moment because I don’t want him to be alone, but if he’s asking me, then he really needs it. I walk backwards to the door and when my back hits the cold surface, I hurry out of the room.

The next days feel like damn fucking hell on earth. Clint tries to cheer me up, but it’s useless. Steve was taken to the Number 3, where Wanda and Bruce are, Natasha doesn’t come out of her room, Clint heard she’s refusing to eat again, and Bucky is nowhere to be seen. I’ve looked for him in the garden, the showers, the nursery and even dared to go to his room. It was empty. He’s never shut me down like this. I know he needs time alone, but this is giving me a bad feeling. Steve and Bucky bonded right away, they found comfort and understanding, they share the life experience of war and they’re about the same age. Steve is Bucky’s best friend and they truly care and love each other. They’re more than just brothers, I think they’re made of the same soul, two fitting pieces of a puzzle and this fucked up situation is just too much for Bucky. He can’t lose Steve and I can’t lose him. The worry starts to have repercussions on my treatment, I’m anxious and upset the whole time, my meds are not working the same and the nurses exchange uneasy look between them as they do their daily check up. After I have no idea how long, I’m in the mood for some fresh air, so I head outside with new hopes that I’ll find Bucky in his habitual spot.

And there he is. Standing with his back to me. I waste no time and run in his direction. He hears my clumsy feet over the grass and turns, his arms already waiting for me. I jump, tangling my legs around his waist and my hands clutch the gray hoodie he’s wearing. I nuzzle into his neck and cling to him for dear life. He can’t possibly imagine how much it hurt to be away from him.

‘Hey, doll’, he says and chuckles. This is not funny, you son of a bitch! I was worried and lonely and you fucking evaporated! I think I say all of that out loud because he laughs, tightening his hold on me. ‘I know, I’m sorry’, he kisses the side of my head and sighs, relieved. I’m a weeping mess now.

‘I hate you, you bastard’, I babble between weak sobs. He knows that I don’t, but he also knows that I do.

‘I hate you too’, he answers and pulls back a little. He smiles that way I love him to, lopsidedly and pure, and my heart swells inside my chest. I love this man, he’s ripped at every edge and I’m fucked up in every way, but I love him. He guides us to the isolated warehouse where we can be touchier and bold. ‘My beautiful doll, I’ve missed you so, so much’, he says as he presses me against the shelves. He leans down and kisses my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks all over the skin. Fuck it, I’ve missed him too. I urge him to meet my lips, tongues and teeth getting in the mix as we devour each other, satiating the thirst. ‘I want you’, he groans when I roll my hips against his, needy and ravenous, and he sets the world on fire just to see me come undone. 

Little by little, we build back what’s left of our lives. Bucky spends more time with me and Clint, part of it because of Steve’s absence, but he’s trying his best to put on a good face. His main doctor told him that he can arrange occasional visits and that seems to calm him down a bit. My therapy sessions are more bearable thanks to a kinky advice that Clint gave me, something about praising men’s ego, if you get my meaning. Natasha is the one I’m worried about now, she hasn’t showed up in the last few days and for what I know, she’s dealing badly with Steve’s subject, maybe even more than Bucky. 

One not so special day, I’m heading to the garden to meet Bucky. We were having this silly contest about who can name more cereal and dairy products brands in ten seconds and there still was no winner. I spent most of the night thinking about names and I’m feeling confident of my knowledge. Bucky won’t get the chance to kick my ass, he might get to do other things if he asks nicely. I laugh at my thoughts. It’s another good day and I’m positive that something interesting is going to happen. My predictions fulfill as I approach the entry, where I see her there; right under the threshold of the main door stands Natasha.

‘Nat!’, I shout and wave at her, honestly glad that she’s feeling better. But something’s wrong because she doesn’t turn to me, her eyes are glued to whatever is taking place outside. I hasten the pace, a knot twisting painfully in my bowels. Someone’s screaming. ‘What’s happening? Who–?’, I stop next to her, turning to the garden and there he is. Erratic and brutal. Bucky. And he’s having an episode, a very nasty one. ‘BUCKY!’, I run like a fucking crazy to him without hesitation. There are at least ten guards, some doctors too, surrounding him. It’s like Steve all over again. They try to get a hold of him but all their efforts fail because he’s too strong for them. He cries out and growls when a guard attempts to circle his torso with a rope. ‘Stop, you’re hurting him!’, I yell at them and push my way closer to Bucky. I try to advance more, but a particularly big man imposes over me, restricting the access to the dangerous source. Another cry comes from Bucky and I see him half-kneeled on the floor, five men pushing his body down and punching him whatever their fists land. ‘STOP!’, my demand gets lost in the chaos. All figures and sound paralyze when our eyes meet for a brief second. He’s suffering too much, he can’t do this anymore, and he’s sorry for whatever he’s going to do. It only takes him a quick glance at his surroundings, but I’m too late to process his intentions when he notices the scissors inside the front pocket of nurse’s coat, a not so harmless tool available at the wrong place and the wrong time. ‘BUCKY, NO!’ and I can almost hear him begging my forgiveness. I have no time to cover my eyes, they don’t react fast enough and we let Bucky cut his throat. 

All I see is red and white, but I can’t find the blue of Bucky’s eyes. They’re gone and I’m being taken away from the area, removed from the picture. I think this is the last time I’ll ever see him, blood pouring down a fine line on his troat, thick veins cracking his face and more blood bubbling out of his mouth and I wish I could have said goodbye. _Goodbye, my love. Goodbye my darling_. The buzzing on my ears quiet down the screams and I still don’t understand how did this happen. He was okay, wasn’t he? He would have told me if he was having problems, right? We trusted each other that much, we loved each other. It was real, wasn’t it? I feel the burn of the tears at the brim of my eyes, but I bit my lip; no one will see me cry. 

I’m tied up to a bed in the blink of an eye, doped as fuck. I look around but the room is empty except for the bed and me, if I’m still here at all. I hardly notice the change of shades around me, days and nights are the same to me. The pain hunts my dreams every now and then. I imagine he’s beside me, but when I reach to him, he’s gone. I cry if only if I’m completely alone. I call for him just the way Steve calls Peggy but I know neither of them is coming back. My Bucky is gone. The man I loved because he let me do it. There’s no bigger explanation or great miracle behind our story; we met, we smiled, then he saved me and I sheltered him. He made love to me and I placed his heart in the deepest corner of my chest. We thought that love was meant to kill for or die for, but we learned that we felt a love that we wanted to live for. Where is my love now? Is he as afraid as I am? Will I see him again? Too many questions to an answerless brain. 

I haven’t seen Clint or Natasha for that matter, I think I’ve been confined to my room because I attack every nurse that enters. I don’t know if I’ve slept or eaten, but none of that matters. I’ll be transferred to Number 3 soon, I heard them talking about it. Good, at least I’ll see Steve again. Next thing I do know is that I’m back at Dr. Stark’s office. 

‘I heard about Mr. Barnes’, he says in a neutral voice. ‘I know you two didn’t get along, but it was a terrible incident and I’m sorry you had to see it’, yeah, right. I might be fucked up, but I’m not stupid, and he’s glad the way was cleared.

‘Do you know how does one become mad?’, my voice doesn’t sound like me anymore, is hoarse and frail. It reflects the inner state of my mind… and my heart.

‘No’, he’s looking at me with pity. I hate it. ‘How does one become mad, miss?’, he finally asks. 

This time, I hesitate. It’s not that easy anymore, I can lie to him and there would be no different, but then, what does it make a difference? The truth is an illusion, an abstraction of the real world and I don’t have the right answer to a question I formulated myself. Oh, the irony. There’s only one thing I can say, so I say it, clear and slow.

‘You tell them what they want to hear, over and over until you believe it yourself’, the following minutes are a blur. I hear him ask more questions, then he’s pinning me down his desk, lifting my skirt and kissing my breasts. I told you, he fantasied about me. 

I don’t feel his hands or his lips on my skin, they’re gross and strange, exploring places that already belong to someone. Belonged. He finishes quickly, cleaning up the mess and telling me to shut my fucking mouth if I don’t want to end like Barnes. Please, Stark, do me the favor. But he’s a coward and an ignorant. He will never see.

He’ll never know about Natasha, how she was sold by her father to one of his friends when she was just twelve years old, working as his whore, and the things she suffered before and after she escaped. She can’t even remember all of what happened, they had her doped most of the time. He’ll never know about Steve and the explosion that burned his entire team, the hell he endured watching them die one by one, looking at the light fading away from their eyes just to come back home to see his wife in the bed of a hospital, breast cancer claiming her last breath.

He’ll never know about Clint’s car crash, the one that cost him his family’s lives and almost his, how much he blames himself, how much alcohol was running though his veins the multiple times he tried to kill himself. He’ll never know about Wanda and the thief who murdered her parents in front of hers and her twin’s eyes when they were ten, or how the hunger killed her brother no longer after. He’ll never know about Bruce, his deep bipolar disorder, the depressive and raged random states that force him to be secluded and tied up to a bed, unconscious, surviving thanks to serums and sedatives. 

He’ll never know about Bucky, the brave soldier who fought in both Afghanistan and Iraq, the soul who was taken away from home when he was barely twenty and was kidnapped by terrorists, someone who lost every drop of life and hope, washing the blood of his hands every night after he was rescued. Someone who outlived death itself. And he’ll never know about me or the many broken bones that never healed, the bruises covering my body and the infinite knife cuts embellishing my skin whenever my father and brother were too drunk to care if I was still alive, curled up on the floor, beaten and reaped, whishing I was dead, begging for a better hell. 

Nobody knows the pain, no one was there, nobody cares. So, how does one become mad? I don’t fucking know, I don’t want to fucking know, but if you want to play, tell them who you are and all they need to do is listen.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it’s me…Well, I’ve had this idea spinning ‘round my head for quite some time now and I just had to get it out of my system. I love the song and this kind of wrote itself, you know. It’s my first oneshot, but I hope you like it :) The next chapter of my Winter Robin series is still in the works, so stay tuned for updates. Feel free to leave comments kudos or questions, I always answer :) LOVE YOU ALL! 
> 
> PS: Tumblr post with gifs and video [here](http://mrsbarnes1o7.tumblr.com/post/151543368942/heathens-avengers-au-summary-i-have-found)


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